


we heart you

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Airports, Art, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Gen, Jackson Comes Back, Reunions, signs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2827289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson's looking for a way out of the airport. He finds a sign he doesn't expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we heart you

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly, ridiculous piece of fluff because when I saw "Sign" as the prompt at fullmoon_ficlet, I had this IDEA and this is what it became. The "art" is likewise silly. I just wanted something feel good and fun. NOTE: Text at the end for those who may not be able to view the text on the images.

The flight from London wears on Jackson. He flies from Heathrow to a three hour layover in JFK, then back on _another_ plane to cross the continent with a stop in Philadelphia before the long haul to San Francisco. He’s exhaustedand the idea that he still has to drive to Beacon Hills in some stupid, lame rental car makes him feel like giving it all up and getting a hotel room to sleep for a week first.

He wonders if it’s worth it, if anyone even really _cares_ that he’s coming in for Christmas. It’s been a year and a half and they’ve all moved on. Fuck, Stilinski tried to destroy the world once, and Scott’s dating some kind of electrical fox. Jackson doesn’t even know half of this new pack, and they’re all in the middle of their final year of high school.

Why would they care? What do they have in common anymore?

He could spend the night in a hotel, get a ticket in the morning and head back home.

Except it’s not home: it’s _London_ , and it never will feel like home.

He stands in the jetway, rubbing at his eyes and trying to convince himself that he needs to move forward.

Someone bumps into him and he growls, knows he must flash his eyes by the way the guy suddenly circles wide around him, shock writ in his features. Jackson pulls the wolf back, tries to shut it down as he stumbles forward.

It’s always this way when he flies, as if his wolf hates being disconnected from the ground, and can’t quite find his feet once he’s back. He flew to France the first time he visited, then decided the Eurostar was the better option every time after that. Nothing uproots him as much as being in the air.

He blinks in the light of the airport, stares blearily around him seeking some sign for where he should go. When he spots the restroom sign hanging overhead, he starts with that. It gives him a chance to stare into the mirror and splash water on his face to wash the feel and scent of the airplane away as much as he can. He finger combs his hair and tries to make it look like he didn’t sleep against a window for a few hours.

It isn’t much, but it’ll have to do, even if it really doesn’t help him wake up.

When he walks out of the restroom, he spots a sign hanging on the side of a moving sidewalk.

The paint looks like it dripped after being stroked on the paper, and Jackson isn’t sure if it’s a threat or not. He looks side to side, wonders for a moment if he’s hallucinating, but when he reaches out to touch it, the sign is really there.

It almost smells like home. He likes the hint of forest so he picks it up, tucks it into the outer pocket of his carryon bag. If it’s a threat, whoever it was meant for won’t see it. If it’s someone’s weird way of saying welcome home, well, Jackson’s a dick, and he’s fucking it up for someone. So what.

He stands to the right on the moving sidewalk, clinging to the rail to keep himself upright. He follows the signs to baggage claim and an escalator down.

The second sign is at the top of the escalator, and the scent lingers a little more heavily, like the fresh outdoors mixed with Lydia’s perfume.

There are little blue flowers dotting the page. Without thinking about it, Jackson carefully picks the paper from where it hangs and puts it with the other in his bag. It doesn’t mean anything.

The third sign isn’t far away, at the bottom of the escalator, and he smiles to see it.

He snorts softly, exhaustion giving way to a strange sort of fond amusement. He doesn’t know how they did it, but he appreciates this little welcome home. Stilinski must be behind it; the _dickhead_ gives it away. He can’t leave language like that behind in a place where kids might see it, so it joins the other two in his bag.

There’s a little more energy in his steps as he pushes through the crowd, impatient with the small knots of people greeting each other, or meandering in their own exhaustion. He spots a sign hanging above the doorway leading into the baggage claim area, just out of his reach.

He stands there staring at it, the purple letters surrounded in pink, and he tries to squint to see if those are _sparkles_. He’s considering jumping, wondering if it would tear when he grabbed it. He’s strong, after all; he can jump fairly high as a werewolf. He wants the sign.

It’s _his_ sign.

A small cough grabs his attention, a soft whisper of _is he even going to look over here_ in a voice that he doesn’t know. He turns slowly, not sure what to expect because there seem to be _people_ involved. All of them, standing there in a knot, with Stilinski and Danny holding the last sign between them, surrounded by Derek and Scott and Lydia and a whole bunch of people that Jackson doesn’t know.

Stilinski wiggles his side of the sign, and Danny grins.

Jackson rolls his eyes, fixes a scowl on his face to hide the grin. He points up, “Which one of you assholes is going to get that down for me?”

He’s surrounded in a blink, inhaling both familiar and unfamiliar scents, storing them away to keep them safe when he has to leave again. They hug him in turn, offer introductions with names and faces that he probably won’t remember. Then Danny is handing him the final two signs before pulling him close to thump his back and hold on hard.

Derek grabs him last, cheek to cheek, scent rubbed into skin before he says, “Welcome home, Jackson.”

He is, he’s home.

He doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those who may need a clearer or purely text version, the signs say:
> 
> Blood is read  
> Wolfsbane is blue  
> You may be an dickhead  
> But you're our dickhead  
> And we <3 you
> 
> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


End file.
